Walk Tall
by Saber Wing
Summary: This didn't feel like victory at all to Gladiolus. It felt like bullshit.


Special thanks to Bebedora, for being wonderful and helping me iron shit out, as always. A girl couldn't ask for a better beta, and friend. Also, for helping me think of a title. I hate titles. There's no one else I trust to look at my work before it's presentable. You're awesome girl, rock on!

Also, this is kind of a 'welcome back' fic for me. I fell off of my writing for quite some time, but I'm getting back into the game and hoping I'm not too rusty. I think this goes without saying, but this is very spoiler-y. If you haven't beaten Final Fantasy XV, it would be a really stupid idea to read this. No seriously, what are you doing here? Go find out what happens, then we'll talk.

* * *

This didn't feel like victory at all to Gladiolus. It felt like bullshit.

They were back at the heart of Lucis after all this time, gazing upon the throne with abject horror. Or rather, who sat upon it, death's icy shroud hanging over him like a mantle. Gladio wondered how stiff the body was – if there was any remnant of warmth in his fingers. If he grabbed his hand, would it still move or would it be rock solid, cold to the touch?

Whatever. Either way, this shit was insane.

He laughed. He couldn't help it. With a shrill, hysterical edge he thought might shatter the stained-glass windows around the room.

The throne room, where Noct made his last stand. Where he waited to die, alone and afraid—his glaive fighting to buy him the time he needed.

Noctis was ordained as the Chosen at a very young age. The King of Kings would come and purge their star of its scourge someday, "oh and by the way, don't get attached, he's going to fucking die." Somebody conveniently left that out of the history books.

 _You're kidding - this is what we get?_

Gladio shook his head and scoffed, fighting to keep the burning behind his eyelids at bay. Breaking wasn't an option, especially not with his brothers in arms watching.

Gods...they just got him back. Even after Noct told them what he'd learned from Bahamut in the crystal – he just thought they'd have more time to say 'goodbye.'

 _I'm such an idiot._

 _Damn it._

"I'll be outside."

He spun on his heel, but before he could take a single step out of the room, Prompto snapped his head up, surging to his feet. For a moment, Gladio was taken aback by the anger in his eyes, but he should have known better. Prompto always had been good at seeing through the hearts of men. Any facade Gladio might put up meant nothing to him.

"Seriously, that's all you have to say?"Prompto's voice broke on the last word. With his hair mussed, fists balled, eyes red from crying—he looked like a man on the edge of his sanity. "Why did you even bother coming?"

Heart grown cold, Gladio turned to look at the photographer. "There's nothing I can do by standing here staring at his corpse."

Prompto continued, voice rising. "Don't feed me that bullshit! Yeah it's hard to look at, but it's the least we can do! He tried so hard to do right by everyone, to make you proud! How could you blow off his sacrifice? Some shield you are."

Gladio's blood boiled. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? I was always proud of him, even when he was being an idiot. I gave life and limb for that man, and I'd do it all again! But don't you ever tell me I wasn't damn good to him! He'd have been dead a thousand times if it weren't for me!"

Prompto laughed, if the strangled gasp coming out of his mouth could even be called laughter. "Is that why it was okay for you to blame him for Iggy's blindness?"

Gladio's whole world froze. Any response he'd conjured up died on his lips.

"If you had a problem with how I treated Noct after Altissia, you should have said something. Now that it's been ten years and it doesn't matter anymore, you throw that in my face?"

Prompto threaded his fingers through his hair as he began to pace back and forth in front of Gladio. "It was either that, or your blatant disregard for his feelings. ' _Just put on the Ring of Lucii, Noct. Don't worry, it'll just literally eat your soul until you die'._ No big deal, right?"

Gladio winced. He deserved that one.

The crystal drew life force energy from every Lucian king who called upon its power. In his final years, Noctis' father, King Regis, looked about ten years older than he should have. Noct must have been devastated, watching the man he idolized waste away in front of his eyes.

Gladio hadn't considered that at the time. To him, putting on the ring seemed a simple task requiring little thought or debate. He'd been furious when his king started keeping the boon of their efforts in his _pocket_ , of all places. In the ten years since Noct disappeared, however, Gladio had plenty of time to reflect on the past.

Of course he knew he'd been harsh with Noct back then. It was easy to forget how _young_ the prince had been. Youth wasn't going to save Lucis, sure, but it did put his fear and uncertainty into perspective. Gladio definitely could have been more patient under those circumstances.

As far as blaming him for Iggy's eyesight, that was a foolish young man's way of dealing with anger he didn't have an outlet for. Ignis had entered the Prince's service knowing it might cost him life, limb and then some. No one could fault Noct because Iggy ended up paying that price. It could have just as easily been Gladio who lost his sight, and there was no way he would have held it against Noct if the tables were turned.

They were older now. Wiser. There was no way Noctis had actually thought Gladio still blamed him for that.

 _He couldn't have._

Gladio recoiled, as if he'd been slapped.

 _Oh, Gods. Tell me he didn't._

"' _Be a king, Noct. See the big picture, Noct. Faster, Noct'_." Prompto spat, venomous. "It was never enough for you. Now he's dead and you don't have the balls to acknowledge everything he's done? What the fuck."

His silence was answer enough for both of them.

"Gods, Gladio! All you ever taught Noct was never to back down, and now you're backing down. You've barely glanced over there since we came in. Look at him!"

Gladio's refusal was immediate. No. He'd rather carve his own eyes out with a spoon.

It didn't matter. He found his gaze straying toward his charge anyway. Or rather, the soulless shell in his place.

The first thing he noticed was that Noct's eyes were open. His head hung forward, chin on his chest, but Gladio could still see them, peeking out from under bangs far too long. That was the worst part. They were blue as a mid-day sky, but lifeless. Dead, like the rest of him.

Prompto was right.

He'd meant to apologize when Noct returned. Always told himself there'd be time for that after they reclaimed Lucis.

Here it was. Victory in their grasp and no Noctis. Nobody to hear the words but a cold corpse.

"Is this enough yet? Is he king enough for you?" Prompto's voice broke, anger seeming to drain out of him. For a moment, he looked like the kid Gladio met ten years ago. Young, desperate, more broken than he knew. He slunk back to Noct's side with his arms held tight around his middle, collapsing on the side of the throne opposite Ignis in a crumpled heap.

Ignis hadn't involved himself in their argument. He remained at Noct's side. At some point, he knelt down beside their fallen king and reached out to cup his cheek.

Everything inside Gladio screamed when Ignis shut Noct's eyes. The stillness of them terrified Gladio, but dead as they were, this would be the last time he ever saw them. Such a simple thing, and yet the thought left him feeling strangely empty.

It was so like Iggy to have the presence of mind no one else did; to shut Noct's eyes, even though he couldn't see them anymore. In a way, maybe Ignis had an advantage in that respect. He wouldn't have his judgment clouded by the sight of this cadaver, laid out before them like a grotesque sideshow. He could still think about Noctis and remember who he really was, probably better than anyone.

When he'd finished, the adviser lifted his head to face Prompto and Gladio.

No one could stop two people in their tracks better than Iggy.

"Using his death as an excuse to lash out – both of you should be ashamed. He didn't sacrifice everything so the two of you could come to blows over whose fault it is. It doesn't matter now. We promised him we would rebuild all of Lucis, with or without him. No matter what transpired. I intend to fulfill that promise."

Iggy usually ended up being right. This time was no exception. He _was_ right. All of this was meaningless conjecture now. Noct wasn't alive to hear them. He never would be again.

Mortality wasn't a beast of flesh or bone. It wasn't tangible—he could neither wound it, nor fight the will of the Gods. The only solution to the endless darkness engulfing Eos was getting rid of the Starscourge. No one had any choice but to let the Noctis throw his life away.

Gladio sunk onto one knee before his sovereign. He had no idea how he'd ended up standing so close to the throne in the first place, but it made a certain sort of sense. Instinct drove him when nothing else could. He would always be a step in front of Noctis, a Shield for his Chosen King.

Ten long years ago, Gladiolus walked away from the Trial of Gilgamesh with Cor the Immortal's sword, feeling like nothing could touch him. Finally secure in the knowledge that he could keep Noct safe.

Instead, he'd been forced to let him walk up those marble steps and out of their lives forever. Noctis may have been a sacrificial lamb, but Gladio was the wolf who led him there.

"You deserved better. I couldn't give it to you. I'm sorry."

Gladio could almost hear Noct laughing at him. After all of his noble lectures about stepping up and being the king he was born to be, Gladio was the one who couldn't accept where they were now. What being 'Chosen' meant.

He didn't know what he'd expected, but it wasn't this shit. It wasn't claiming the throne so his king could fucking die on it mere moments later.

Yet all was as it should be. Noctis Lucis Caelum died as he was meant to. For the greater good, by the will of the Gods.

And Gladio – despite his good intentions—spent so long looking for a king, he hadn't realized it wasn't a king he would miss.

He missed 'Noct.' The guy who hated beans, who was terrified of snakes, and hid it so well. The whiny man-child who bitched about mosquitoes, and took ugly selfies for Prompto to find. The kid brother who drove him crazy. Who loved cats, and cuddled chocobos in his sleep.

Gladio didn't see a king slumped upon that throne, sword in his chest, blood staining the floor tiles. He saw his best friend. It didn't matter that he was His Majesty, the King of Kings. He was _dead._ That was what mattered.

He was dead, and Gladio loved him.

Gladio leaned his head against Noct's knee, a sob escaping his lips. Fucking shit, he was not going to cry. What did tears matter now?

No use. The floodgates were open, his vision was blurred, and he wasn't just crying—he was sobbing. Horrible, earth shattering sobs he hadn't experienced in what felt like a lifetime. "I'm sorry, Noct."

Ten long years of burying the hurt finally caught up with him, worse now than it had been the first time they 'lost' Noct. Now they knew for sure he was never coming back. They had the decaying sack of flesh to prove it.

Vaguely, he could hear something scraping along the tiles on the floor behind him. There were arms around him before he had time to puzzle it out. He returned the embrace wordlessly, taking in Prompto's blond hair through the haze.

The way he clung to Gladio spoke its own apology.

"We ride off into the sunset, and Noct is dead. It's so stupid. It doesn't make any sense," Gladio choked, Prompto's arms tightening around him as he turned into the embrace.

Ignis made his way over to them. Gladio could feel a strong grip on his shoulder. He was enveloped in another pair of arms from behind. A watery chuckle escaped his lips in spite of everything. One hell of a time for a group hug.

Maybe the only time.

"What are we supposed to do without him?" Prompto questioned desperately, face buried in Gladio's shirt. Gladio rested his chin on the top of the younger man's head. He knew the answer, but he couldn't say it. Couldn't even stomach the words; the final words he'd ever hear from his reason for living.

Ignis's voice was thick with grief when he spoke. Good old Iggy – he'd always been the best of them. What a sight they must look – three grown men clinging to each other, breaking apart at the seams.

"We walk tall."


End file.
